A War Fought With Love
by weasleytwinmaterial
Summary: AU where John has a self harming problem. Sherlock tries to help John overcome his strange addiction. Can Sherlock help or does John drown in his pain? XXIn ProgressXX
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**This story is the product of me and my best friend Liesl's tragic imagination. This story is something that I hope helps many people out there. For all of you out there who need someone or need to know that you are not alone I am here and I may not know how you feel but I know everyone has their struggles. But let me tell you this friend, it gets better and there is a light at the end of the tunnel and no it's not hellfire. I care about you and if you ever feel like you are alone pm me.**

**Love,**

**weaslytwinmaterial**

A War Fought With Love

Self harm. It's an addiction that is hard to beat and here I was smack in the middle of it. After Sherlock... I just couldn't do it anymore. I've seen war, deaths, and almost anything else you name it. But having your best friend jump off a building and kill himself... That's different. It does some horrible things to you. You lose the will to live.  
It's been a year, two months and eighteen days without him and I don't think I can take it anymore. I want... no I need him to come back. He was the one I cared for the most. He needs to come back, even if it's not possible.

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! PLEASE SHERLOCK! PLEASE COME BACK TO ME! I'm sorry. Please. I tried. I really did. But I can do it anymore. Please come back or take me with you into death." I exclaimed. My yell had turned into a desperate whisper.

I had been going to therapy quite often, but it still seemed that it wasn't working. I still felt lost and hopeless. It kept getting worse and worse every single day, so I came back to my self harm. It seemed counterproductive, an oxymoron really, hurting yourself when you were already in pain, but it helped me in a weird way.  
Although, I started yelling into empty space and Mrs. Hudson was getting more and more worried. I tried to reassure her, but she sees the scars that mar my arms and the lies I struggle to come up with are pushed like garbage. Because they are. I have no valid reason why I'm doing this. It just helps.

And the nightmares… oh, the nightmares… they're death. I can't sleep because of them. The images that haunt me in the middle of the night keeps me from living my life. The pathetic life I have.

All I see when I close my eyes is the broken body of my best friend. The man I cared about. The one I failed to save. How can I sleep when this nightmare plagues me?  
I try to stay awake as long as I can, days on end, but it never works. Sleep overwhelms me and I fall into a restless sleep. And the ferocious cycle continues.  
I found that sleeping in Sherlocks old room helps keep the nightmares at bay. Not completely, but I feel slightly safer in his room. Almost like having him back.  
It was an accident that led me to sleeping in Sherlocks room. I was thinking about finally relocating his things, to a dumpster, but I was feeling weak from my lack of sleep. I fell ungracefully onto his bed.

It was warm and comfortable and I found myself curling up in a ball and sleeping. I awoke to find that I had no nightmares. It was the first time I had hope.

~Two Weeks Later~

I met someone. Her name is Mary. We work together at a clinic. She's funny, pretty, smart. I think I'll ask her for coffee.

~One Month Later~

Mary is amazing. She's a total sweetheart. She saw my scars and she didn't flinch like others would. She knows my past life with Sherlock and she understands how his death affected me.

She wants to help me get better. She said she doesn't want me to be in that much pain. And I believe her.

~Three Months Later~

I had another nightmare. And Sherlock said he never cared at all. That death was a better out than continuing the dreadful life he lived. He said I would like death too. That it's easier. Like falling to sleep. But with my experience with sleeping, dying would be like going through hell.

~One Month Later~

I'm moving in with Mary. We've only been together five months, but she makes me happy. And I love her. Maybe this will be good for me. I can finally start a new life. And who better to start it with than someone like Mary?

~Four Months Later~

I've decided to propose to Mary. She's completely amazing and loving. She makes me happier than I've ever been these last two years.  
I've still had my bad days, but Mary is there to calm me down. She helps me feel safe and wanted. She brings hope. She is hope.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Whoop! Chapter Twooooo! Enjoy You Guys!**_

_**Disclaimer: We Do Not Own Sherlock Or Any Of Its Great Characters.**_

"Oh, it's you," she said with a disapproving tone.

"Yes. How are you Mrs. Hudson?"

"I've been better."

She turns away and walks to her flat. I, stupidly, follow her.

"What do you want John? I'm in the middle of something."

"No your not. You just want me to leave so you can watch crappy telly."

"Oh John. I've missed you and I miss Sherlock. He would have said the same thing. And what is on your face? Is that a mustache? It ages you. Was it too much trouble to call once? I've been so worried. You just don't come back one day and I'm left to wonder what happened," she says, hastily.

"Slow down. Take a deep breath. Are you good? Good. I'm sorry for not calling, Mrs. Hudson. I just met someone."

"You met someone? So soon… after Sherlock?"

"Yes? I moved in with her and I decided to propose to her."

"Her? Well, you really have moved on haven't you?" She asked, a silly grin on her face.

"Mrs. Hudson, for the last time, Sherlock and I were not dating," I say, rather harshly.

"Live and let live, that's my motto. So tell me, why are you here John?"

"I've come to clean out the old flat, unless you already have."

"No. I couldn't bring myself to do it," unshed tears littered her eyes.

I slowly climb the stairs and arrive at the door.

"Mrs. Hudson, I don't have the key. Could you let me in?"

"Of course. While you're cleaning I'm going to go get groceries. I shouldn't be long."

"Okay."

She quickly unlocks the door and rushes back down stairs. No back up, I guess. I turn the handle and slowly open the door. The dust swirls around the air, settling on my clothes and in my hair. I cautiously step in and close the door.

Everything is how I remember leaving it. Mrs. Hudson really hasn't touched anything. I feel sadness bubble up inside me and I collapse on the floor.

I miss this place.  
I miss coming home to random sights and smells.  
And to the people that would scurry through like mice with their problems.  
Most of all I miss Sherlock.  
I should have known. I should have noticed. How could I not notice? I thought he was happy with his life. I thought he knew how much I cared. That I would be broken without him. That I am broken. He was my best friend. And now he's gone. Left to rot underground. Not knowing that I miss him. That I still need him in my life. That no matter how much time goes on, I will never be the same without him.

Everything in the flat reminds me of him. The skull sitting on the mantle, where I used to ride my razors so Sherlock couldn't find them. He never told me who it was and how he obtained it. I never asked and I'll never get the chance to.

Cluedo. I used to like Cluedo. But Sherlock once deduced the victim faked his death. I told him that it was impossible, that you can't fake your death that well. He said it was improbable but not impossible. I wish I could believe him. That his statement was true. That he faked his own death. But he wouldn't fake his death.  
That damn smiley face. Just being there. Being happy, when I was drowning in my sorrow. How could it be happy, when it's maker is dead? It shouldn't be that happy.  
I rise slowly from the floor and pull out my pistol and shoot six times at the wall, creating a frown on the face.

"I HATE YOUR SMILE!"

What is wrong with me? Wasting bullets on a wall. Wouldn't it be easier to just put the gun to my head and shoot? Maybe then I wouldn't have to deal with the pain. Or I can leap off a building like he did. Anything would be better than this.

"WHY SHERLOCK? WHY DID YOU JUMP? DIDN'T YOU CARE? OR WERE YOU TO CONCERNED WITH YOURSELF?" I yelled, hoping that maybe if I screamed loud enough he would hear me.

But it's pointless. He's gone. And he's never coming back. And I wish I could join him.

"Why Sherlock? You were my best friend. You kept me sane and you just left. I cared about you. And I thought you cared about me." I whisper into empty air.  
I walk deliberately to the skull and lift it up. There is the razor I left for emergencies. I pick it up and bring it to my right arm. I make a quick, fluid motion and blood begins to flow.

I repeat this action twelve times. Six on both arms. My arms are covered with cuts and blood drips onto the floor. The stinging on my arms and the buzzing in my head creates a nostalgic atmosphere.

I think of the first time Sherlock found me doing this painfully strange ritual. He practically begged me to stop and when I did, he pulled me close and whispered calming things in my ear. It was the first time Sherlock let his walls down and allowed me to see the gentle side of him.

I collapse on the floor again and let the pain wash over me. What have I done? I thought I was getting better. That Mary was helping me get better. Mary was my hope.  
Now I know she's not, only Sherlock could help me get over this addiction. But I love Mary and I am going to marry her. She may not make my demons go away, but she helps keep them at bay.

The blood was starting to dry upon my arm and irritate my skin. But I just leave it there. Who cares anyway? I thought Sherlock did, but now I know I'm wrong. It seems Mary is the only one who generally cares. But I told Mary not to come.

I can't handle this. I just can't. I begin to sob hysterically. I miss Sherlock. I need him in my life. He was my best friend. He kept me from going over the deep end. So many things he was. Now the only thing he is, is dead.

Sherlock is never coming back and I just have to accept that. No more solving crimes and pranking Mycroft. I kept telling myself that he was coming back, but I know it's useless. He's not going to show up good as new on my doorstep. It's time to move on.

Mrs. Hudson finds me curled up, asleep on the floor. She bent down and gently woke me up. She then proceeded to pull me close and allow me to cry on her shoulder. I felt tears fall on my head and I knew Mrs. Hudson was crying with me.

Maybe Mrs. Hudson cares too. She doesn't know all my pain, but she knows enough to try to comfort me. A wave of affection for Mrs. Hudson washes over me, causing me to cry harder.

After all my tears had run out, she helped me up and directed me to my old chair. She went to the kitchen and returned with tea and a bowl of hot water and a towel. As I drank my much needed tea, which soothed my aching throat, she carefully washed the dry blood from my arms.

It burned, but I was looking for pain. It looks like I found it. It shocked me back to reality and I was left feeling guilty. How am I going to explain this to Mary? She even thought I was doing better.

Mrs. Hudson applied antiseptic to my cuts and wrapped my arms up. She made me finish my tea and she requested I get some sleep. I told her I should go home, but she wouldn't back down. Finally I gave in and walked to Sherlock's old room.

Mrs. Hudson knew I slept in his bed to keep the nightmares away. She said that she would call Mary to let her know where I was. I quickly stripped down to my boxers and climb under the covers.

Mrs. Hudson came in and kissed me lightly on the forehead.

"Goodnight John. I just wanted to say I love you and that I want you to get better. Sleep well, dear."

I said nothing because I couldn't muster the energy to string words into a sentence. I hope Mrs. Hudson knows how much I care for her. That I'll always care for her.

As I laid on the bed, I felt the life drain out of me. I feel so worthless. I wish death would come in the middle of the night and claim me. I closed my eyes and let sleep overpower me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: We dont own Sherlock BUT WE WOULD LIKE TOO!**

"You sat there and watched me get beaten to a pulp," I exclaim.

"I got you out," Mycroft says, looking like a wounded puppy. Like I would fall for that.

"No. I got me out. Why didn't you get me out sooner?"

"I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? I would have ruined everything."

"You were enjoying it."

"Nonsense."

"Definitely. Enjoying it."

"Listen, do you have any idea what it was like Sherlock? Going undercover? Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the people."

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian."

"I didn't. But the language has a Slavic root. Frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours."

"Hm. You're slipping."

"Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all."

Middle age? Right. Like Mycroft could ever be affected by something like old age. The man was basically a far more annoying version of me.  
I stand up. Oh, how it's nice to be clean shaven. Still rather sore, but I'm here. Back in London. In my old clothes.

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft asked, saying everything slowly as if I was a child. Please, when do I ever act like a child?

"What do you think of this shirt?"

"Sherlock!"

"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again. Breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart."

"One of our men died getting this information. All the traffic, all the chatter concurs. There's going to be a terror strike on London. A big one," Mycrofts agent said. She's rather beautiful, but not my type.

"And what about John Watson?" I ask, nonchalantly obviously.

"John?" Mycroft replied, sounding startled.

"Yes. Have you seen him?"

"Oh yes. We meet up every Friday for fish and chips."

"Real mature Mycroft."

He smiles superciliously at me and hands me a thick dossier.

"I've kept a whether eye on him, of course. We haven't been in touch at all to... prepare him."

I open up the dossier and the first thing that captures my eyes if a picture of John. He has a large, bushy mustache growing rather awkwardly on his upper lip.

"Oh no. We'll have to get rid of that."

"We?" Mycrofts arrogant voice responds.

"He looks ancient. I can't be seen wandering around with an old man. It's bad enough I have to deal with you."

"Real mature Sherlock," he replies mockingly.

I finish straightening my shirt out. It will be pleasant to see John again, after two years of being away.

"I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted."

"You think so?"

"Pop over to Baker Street. Who knows? Jump out of a cake."

"Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. Why would he be? It's been two years. He's moved on with his life. Well, he has attempted to."

"What life? I've been away."

"Exactly Sherlock. You've been away. How do you think Johns been?"

"What? What do you mean, Mycroft?"

"Oh nothing. It's just it's painfully obvious the you have not read the complete dossier. You might want to do that."

I flip the pages inside Johns file until I catch a glimpse at something that intrigues me more than his horrendous mustache.  
'It appears that after the alleged death of detective Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson has been inflicting harm upon himself. It is unclear if this is because of the death of Mr. Holmes, but it is known that Dr. Watson been going to a therapist and his girlfriend is also helping.'

"John was gone back to his self-harm addiction?" I ask, heartbroken.

"It appears so, Sherlock," Mycroft relies, sounding sympathetic.

"Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?"

"You always know Mycroft."

"Perhaps I don't know this time."

"Mycroft, please?"

"You really care about John, don't you brother mine?"

I don't respond. Rather I just look down, a warm blush creeping up my neck. I hear Mycroft sigh.

"He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001."

"I think maybe I'll just drop by. See how he is."

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome."

"Why on Earth would you say that? I'm Sherlock freaking Holmes. Consulting Detective Extraordinaire. Why wouldn't he be happy to see me?"

"Sherlock, it's been two years. And for those two years, John has believed you were dead. Naturally, he's not going to be ecstatic to see you."

"Whatever. So, where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"Don't play dumb Mycroft. It's not becoming. You know what."

Mycrofts agent glides back into the room with my coat in tow. She takes it off the hanger and helps me put it on.  
"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes," she says sweetly.

"Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N Hey ladies and gentlemen (or whatever you choose to be. I don't judge). It's me, Liesl. Just wanted to apologize for such the long wait. I had writer block (it's the worst). I didn't really change much. I hope this chapter meets your expectations. Just read and relax. And a comment would be nice too. ~Weasleytwinmaterial**_

I walk into the restaurant and I automatically start looking for John.

After two years I'll finally get to see him again.

And why on Earth does Mycroft think John will not be delighted to see me? I am Sherlock Holmes after all.

The prospect of seeing John again sends a shiver down my spine. What do you say to the man you care for? One you have not seen in two years?

One that believes you to be dead?

"Sir, may I help you?" a steward asks me politely.

One glance at him and I can deduce that he is an expecting father. His phones buzzes, an obvious text alert. "Your wife just texted you. Possibly her contractions have started." I say.

He takes out his phone and quickly looks at the screen. He then rushes away, his breathing ecstatic. I smile smugly to myself. Still got it.

I finally spot John. He is sitting alone at a table and checking his jacket pocket. He proceeds to take a sip from his glass of water. I hesitate.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a waitress pick up menus from the bar. She walks past me quickly. "'Scuse me, sir." My attention is drawn to the bow tie she is wearing as part of her uniform. Interesting.

I look to a nearby table where a couple is sitting. The man is wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bow tie. His back is facing the door.

There is a glass of wine and a glass of water to his left. I look at John again. He is scanning a wine list. I smile to myself again. I walk deliberately to the couple's table, pick up the man's glass of water and pour it down the front of him.

The man recoils and cries out in shock. "Sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He picks up his napkin and starts mopping his shirt up. I step behind him and swiftly remove his tie. "Please, let me… um…just go to the kitchen and… um… dry that off for you."

I walk away and tie the bow to my own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, I spot another man removing his glasses and placing them on top of his menu. I walk over to him. "Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you."

The man pays me no attention and waves me away. I pick up the menu and glasses and walk away, putting the glasses on as I go. Damn, that man is blind.

At a nearby table a woman's handbag is open. Inside is black eyeliner. People just make this far too easy. I step close behind her. I offer the menu that is in my right hand while simultaneously grabbing the menus she is holding with my left.

"Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It's… um… completely updated." She automatically takes the menu and I grab the eyeliner from her bag. I lift the eyeliner to my face and draw a small mustache. I make my way towards John and my heart beats rapidly.

I step beside him and address him with a French accent. "Can I 'elp you with anything, sir."

"Hi, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne… a good one," he said, not looking at me.

I lean I closer. "Mmm. Well, these are all excellent vintages."

"That's not really my area. What do you suggest?"

"Hm, you cannot possibly go wrong. But if you'd like my personal recommendation... this last one on 'ze list is a favorite of mine. It is, you might in fact say, like a face from 'ze past," I say, taking off the glasses.

"Great. I'll have that one please." John. I'm right here. Just look already.

"It is familiar but with a quality of surprise."

"Well, surprise me."

"certainly endeavoring to, sir." Seriously John? Could you be more oblivious?

I walk away from his table, although I am still within hearing distance. Damn it John. I'm trying to tell you I'm not dead. The least you could do is pay attention. You're making this harder then it needs to be.

A pretty, young blond sits down in front of John. This must be his girlfriend. How… nice. "Now then, what did you want to ask me?" She asked, rather perky.

"Um… more wine?"

"No, I'm good with water, thanks. So?"

"Ah, so. Mary. Listen. Um… I know it hasn't been long. And I know we haven't known each other for a long time..."

"Go on." John sounds thoughtful. I lean in closer, listening intently.

"Yes, I will. As you know these last couple of years haven't been easy for me. And meeting you... yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that possibly could have happened."

Rude. I thought I was the best thing that ever happened to you, John.

"I agree."

"What?"

"I agree. I'm the best thing that could have happened to you. Sorry." Conceited, aren't we?

"Well, no. It's, um... So, if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um... if you'll see your way to..."

Shit, I know exactly what he is trying to say. I've got to stop him from doing that. I grab a wine bottle for a nearby table. Good. It's closed. I walk quickly to John's table. I address John with the French accent again.

"Sir, I think you will find this vintage exceptionally to your liking. It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the color of the new."

"No, sorry, not now. Please," John says, continuing to look at that woman. What's her name? Mary. "Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers… suddenly one is aware of staring into 'ze face of an old friend."

"No, look, seriously, could you just…" John breaks off, finally looking at me.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters."

"John? John, what is it? What?" Mary stammered.

"Well, then. Short version. Not dead. Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. In my defense it was very funny. Okay, maybe it's not a great defense."

"Oh no, you're…"

"Oh yes."

"Oh my god…"

"Hmm, not quite."

"You died. You jumped off a roof."

Dear God, woman. Does it look like I'm dead?

"No."

"You're dead."

"No, I'm quite sure. I checked. Excuse me," I say , grabbing Mary's napkin and dipping it in her water.

I begin to rub off my fake mustache, "Does yours rub off too?"

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you have any idea what you've done?" John looks devastated.

Could it be that I did this to him? "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realizing I owe you some sort of an apology."

"Okay, John, just keep..." John suddenly stands up.

Although he is shorter than me, I find myself backing up. Fearful that John may try to rip my head off. "TWO YEARS… Two years. I thought... I thought... you were dead. Hm. And you let me grieve. How… how could you do that? How?"

"Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, one question. Just let me ask one question. Are you really going to keep that?" I had to ask.

That mustache has to go. He looks ten years older. Suddenly, I feel myself being forced backwards. John tackled me and is now attempting to beat me to a pulp. It takes three men to get him off me and five minutes to calm John down. I forgot he had a nasty temper.

Afterwards, we were kindly asked to leave and Mary and I convinced John to go to a nearby coffee shop.

Fake death to stop Moriarty: easy. Waltz my way back into Johns life: minor setbacks. Convince John this is a good thing: I'm in trouble.

"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof. I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with body bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…"

"You know for a genius you can be remarkably thick," John interrupted.

"What?"

"I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why."

How odd. John always wanted to know the answer. He would often remark at how amazing or fantastic my deductions were. How times have changed.

"Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped. Oh. Why as in... I see. Yes. Why. That's a little more difficult to explain."

"I've got all night."

"Actually… um… that was mostly Mycroft's idea."

"Oh, so this was your brother's plan?"

"Oh, well he would have needed a confidante," Mary interjects. John gives her a pointed look, one that says 'Don't back him up.'

"Oh, sorry."

"But he was the only one? The only one who knew?"

"A couple of others. It was a very elaborate plan. It had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities…"

"Who else? Who else knew?" I hesitate. Is it really that important to know who was involved? Finally, I cave.

"Molly."

"Molly!", John shouted.

"John," Mary says, forcefully.

"Molly Hooper and some of my homeless network and that's all."

"Okay, okay. So, just your brother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps?"

"No," I say, outraged. What makes him think that? It's rude, "Twenty-five at most."

Next thing I know, John lunges across the table. Damn you Mycroft. Always have to be right. Yet again, we are asked to leave. We go next door, after much begging from me.

I need to finish explaining everything to John. Hoping to calm John down, I bring up his mustache again. "Seriously, it's not a joke? You're really keeping that?"

"Ah, yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Mary likes it."

"Mm... no she doesn't."

"She does."

"She doesn't." John looks over at Mary, quietly observing the two of us. The guilty look on her face answers John's question.

"Wha… don't," she stammers, at a loss for words.

"Oh, brilliant."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Really no, this is charming. I've really missed this." John takes a deep breath, trying to regain his wits.

"One word, Sherlock! That is all I would have needed! One word to let me know that you were alive! These two years haven't exactly been easy for me." My poor John. I didn't mean to hurt you this way.

"I've nearly been in contact so many times, but... I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?"

"Oh, you know, let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh so this is my fault? Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong?! The only one reacting like a human being!"

"More like over-reacting."

"Over-reacting! So, you fake your own death and you waltz back in here, large as bloody life, but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that. Because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly okay thing to do!"

"Shut up, John! I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive."

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?"

"Yes. It's still a secret. Look, London is in danger, John. There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes, your help. Admit it. You have missed this. The thrill of the chase. The blood pumping through your veins. Just the two of us against the rest of the world."

John takes my face and head-butts me. He does enjoy hurting me, doesn't he. I don't remember how, but we end up in front of Speedy's. Baker street. It's good to be home. I'm left to stand with Mary as John paces back and forth.

"Okay, I think your nose has stopped bleeding now."

"I don't understand. I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Hm... nature? No. Human? No."

"I'll talk him 'round."

"You will?"

"Oh, yeah."

With full view of her, deduction becomes far to easy. She's clever, a romantic, short-sighted, size… hmm… twelve, cat-lover, part-time nurse, only child, secret tattoo and… hmm… an appendix scar, bakes her own bread, both a linguist and a liar.

How intriguing. Quite the woman John has managed to get. Although, for once I believe my deductions should be kept to myself.

"Goodbye Sherlock," Mary says sweetly.

"Goodbye Mary."


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: So Liesl and I are having a discussion about if British people say 'Dressing gown' or 'Bathrobe' and she says dressing gown and I say bathrobe. What do you guys say? Because we really need to know. For reasons of proving each other wrong. Anyways sorry for the wait on this chapter guys. We had this thing called "School" and it was terrible. I think this one is longer than the others so that makes up for the wait. P.s. John is in normal and Sherlock is in bold. Reviews are awesome just so you know ;D_**

**_Love,_**

**_Haylee and Liesl_**

"Can you believe that man?" I scoffed.

"I don't like him."

I could not believe my ears. Mary doesn't like Sherlock. I mean, sure, the whole faking his death thing got to me and I'm still pissed. Although it doesn't change the fact that he's my best friend. He'll always be my best friend. Sherlock may be a right prat, but at least he tries to be nice, sometimes.

"What?"

"I don't like him."

She just sat there looking out the window while we were heading home and didn't say a single word to me again that night. Except for the usual goodnight love you John.

I was confused and angry to say the least. But I don't see why Mary would be upset. She would never dislike someone so quickly. That's what makes her better than me.  
Mary fell asleep before I did. I couldn't help but think of the past two years. Thinking that my best friend was dead and how I wished he wasn't. And somehow he returned. But this wasn't what I wanted, the whole fake suicide thing. But, he was back. With consequences, of course.

God Damnit Sherlock! How could he just do that to me? How could he fake his death and not tell me? Oh, because apparently I would have 'let the bloody fucking cat out of the bag!' Didn't Sherlock trust me?

Didn't he know the amount of pain I went through? Two years can do excessive amounts of damage. Sherlock already knew about my self-harm problem, he was one of the first people that actually tried to help me overcome it. Didn't he factor that into the equation?

As I lay there, Mary curled up beside me. Her body pressed close to mine, seeking warmth, and I wrapped my arms around her gently. I started to drift asleep and, for the first time in what seems like forever, I didn't have a single nightmare.

I lay in my bed, thinking about the past couple hours.

**Everything is settled with John now, or as close to settled as I can get. It's pleasant being back in London. Everything is as it should be. My closest 'friends' all know that I am alive and well.**

**Molly wasn't an issue. She knew about the plan all along. Although, sneaking up behind her while she was getting ready to leave may have startled her. All well. Now she knows I'm back for good.**

**Lestrade was slightly harder. I'm lucky he didn't have a gun on him. He was led to believe I've been dead for two years. And then I show up in a dimly lit underground car park. I saw him pull out a cigarette and prepare to light it.**

**"Those things'll kill you."**

**He looked around confused. Then realization hit him.**

**"Oh, you bastard!" He muttered, pulling the unlit cigarette from his mouth.**

**I stepped forward, out from my shield of darkness.**

**"It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Graham."**

**"Greg!"**

**"Greg? Are you sure? That doesn't seem right."**

**Lestrade stared at me in disbelief. He smiled happily and lunged forward. He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me into a tight hug.**

**I groaned lightly. Lestrade's hug did no good to the injuries I acquired in Serbia, but I silently accepted the bone crushing hug.**

**Mrs. Hudson was a whole new level. She knew nothing of my plan. She, along with John, suffered the most in my absence.**

**I walked stealthily into her flat and I could hear her washing dishes while listening to the radio. I closed her front door and I could hear her turn down the radios volume.**  
**She walked deliberately to the front door, brandishing the frying pan she must have been cleaning, and stared at my silhouette.**

**Once she fully comprehended what was going on, she screamed hysterically and promptly passed out.**

**I smile to myself. Everything is back to normal. I close my eyes and drift off into a dreamless sleep.**

~Morning~

"His movements were so silent. So furtive. He reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent.

I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law," Mary said, lounging on our bed. She just had to snoop on my blog.

"Don't read that."

"Famous blog. Finally."

"C'mon that's…"

"Ancient history. Yes, I know but it's not is it? Because he's... What are you doing?"

She looked up at me and noticed the shaving cream on my face.

"Having a wash."

"You're shaving it off."

"Well, you hate it."

"Sherlock hates it."

"Apparently everyone hates it."

"Ooh," she said with a smirk and an twinkle in her eyes, "are you going to see him again?"

What's that suppose to mean?

"No. I'm going to work."

"Oh and after work you're going to see him again, yeah?"

Tired of talking I walked back to the bathroom that was connected to our bedroom and I carefully started to shave.

"God, I have nine months of bristly kisses from you and then his Nibs turn up."

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes," I say rather harshly.

"Ah you should put that on a T-shirt."

"Shut up."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll marry ya."

She is my hope and for that I love her. She has saved me. But I still don't understand why Mary dislikes Sherlock. He's my best friend and naturally I want him to be my best man at the wedding. But Mary disliking him seems like a colossal problem.

I love Mary. And I love Sherlock, platonically of course. I don't see why they can't get along. Mary is great with people and I'm sure Sherlock would try to get to know Mary.

"Mary? Why is it you dislike Sherlock?" I ask.

"John, he hurt you. In ways that even I can not fathom."

"You know, he's not that bad. Well, under all the 'I'm better than all you commoners' that is. I think you two would get along exceptionally well."

"I'll try John."

I smile to myself. Good, there is hope that Mary and Sherlock will become friends. With that in order, I must continue shaving.

Goodbye bristle, hello smooth.

Now moustache-free, I approach the office where I work. I did miss being clean shaven. This is how it should be.

**"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical," Mycroft says, looking directly at me.**

**I sit in my old chair with my dressing gown_ (bathrobe)_ on. Mycroft sits in John's chair and looks down at the board in front of us. I lean back, having finished making a move.**

**"Boring. Your move."**

**"We have solid information. An attack is coming," he replies, concentrating hard on his next move.**

**"Solid information. A secret terrorist organization's planning an attack… that's what secret terrorist organizations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf."**

**"An agent gave his life to tell us that."**

**"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off."**

**He looks back up at me and tries to suppress a sigh.**

**"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?"**

**He glances down again and makes a move, "Your move."**

**"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad," I said, looking down briefly before making my move, "Your move."**

**"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case."**

**"I am on the case? We're both on the case. Look at us right now."**

**The buzzer for Operation goes off and the red light blinks rapidly.**

**"Oh, bugger!" Mycroft says dejectedly.**

**"Oopsie."**

**I look down at which piece Mycroft had failed to remove successfully "Can't handle a broken heart… how very telling," I say with a smug smile.**

**"Don't be smart," Mycroft says angrily.**

**"That takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one.'"**

**"I am the smart one."**

**"I used to think I was an idiot."**

**"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children."**

**"Oh, yes. That was a mistake."**

**"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?"**

**"Probably something about trying to make friends."**

**"Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."**

**I blush slightly. Why did Mycroft have to know my secret?**

**"And you don't? Ever?"**

**"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."**

**"Yes, but I've been away for two years."**

**"So?"**

**I shrug, "Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish."**

**"Change the subject…now!" Mycroft says looking appalled. He stands up and walks over to the fireplace.**

**"Rest assured, Mycroft… whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."**

**Mrs. Hudson walks into the room, carrying a tray of tea.**

**"Ooh-hoo!"**

**I smile brightly at her.**

**"Speaking of which…"**

**"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it! Him… sitting in his chair again!" She says happily, putting the tray on the dining table, "Oh, isn't it wonderful Mr. Holmes?"**

**"I can barely contain myself."**

**"Oh, he really can, you know."**

**"He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that…"**

**"Sorry… which of us?" Mycroft asks.**

**"Both of you."**

**She leaves the room, possibly to get the teapot.**

**"Let's play something different," I say.**

**"Why are we playing games, Sherlock?"**

**"Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical. I'm just passing the time."**

**"Lets do deductions," I say walking over to the dining table. I pick up a woolen bobble hat with earflaps.**

**"Client left this while I was out. what'd 'you reckon?"**

**I toss it to my brother. He catches it effortlessly.**

**"I'm busy."**

**"Oh, go on. It's been an age."**

**Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks across at me.**

**"I always win."**

**"Which is why you can't resist."**

**"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis… Damn."**  
**He tosses the hat back at me.**

**"Isolated, too, don't you think?" I ask.**

**"Why would he be isolated?"**

**"He?"**

**"Obviously."**

**"Why? Size of the hat?"**

**"Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too. No… he's recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside."**  
**I look down at the hat, frowning slightly.**

**"Some women have short hair, too."**

**"Balance of probability."**

**"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair…or a woman for that matter."**

**"Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…"**

**"Five times," I say throwing the hat back to my brother, "very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's obsessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive."**

**"Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?"**

**He throws the hat back at me.**

**"The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad… in Peru," he says.**

**"Peru?"**

**"This is a chullo… the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."**

**I smirk, "No."**

**"No?"**

**"Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers."**

**"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," Mrs. Hudson says coming back in the room carrying a teapot.**

**"You said he was anxious," I tell Mycroft.**

**"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but…"**

**"… but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."**

**"Precisely."**

**I lift the hat and sniff it before lowering it again, grimacing.**

**"Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath," I say.**

**"Elementary."**

**"But you've missed his isolation."**

**"I don't see it."**

**"Plain as day."**

**"Where?"**

**"There for all to see."**

**"Tell me."**

**"Plain as the nose on your…"**

**"Tell me."**

**"Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"**

**"Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."**

**"Exactly."**

**Mycroft blinks several times, obviously confused.**

**"He's different… so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right. Why would anyone mind?" I ask.**

**I lift the hat and place it on the top of my head, then looks pointedly at my brother. Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment.**

**"I'm not lonely, Sherlock."**

**"How would you know?"**

**I take off the hat and toss it on the table. Mrs. Hudson comes into the living room and smiles.**

**"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning."**

**Mycroft rushes out. I look over to Mrs. Hudson and wink. She giggles happily.**

**"Right. Back to work."**


	6. Chapter 6

Hey everyone. It's Liesl. No we didn't forget about you. We just had a shit load of things to get done. That's why it took us so long to update. Stupid school and FCATs. Anyway, here's the newest chapter. Hope you enjoy. P.s. John's POV is in italics and Sherlock's is bold.

_Mary knocked on the door and looked in. She had a small frown etched in her beautiful face. Must have another patient. Damn. _

_"Mr. Summerson," she says.  
_  
_ "Right."  
_  
_ "Undescended testicle."  
_  
_ "…right."  
_  
_ Mary swiftly left the room to bring Mr. Summerson. I dared myself to look at the clock and not be disappointed with the time. The clock declared it was ten minutes past ten. Damn. It was going to be a long day._

** I held up my phone to take a look at a recent photo of one of my 'markers'. Mrs. Hudson came to the door of the living room and watched me draw a large, red X over the photo of the man that was pinned on the wall. This man was no longer a concern of mine. **

**"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asks.**

** "Mm?" I wasn't really paying attention to her. Or the photos and maps on the walls. I had something else on my mind. Or rather someone else.**

** "Talk to John." Damn. How she managed to guess what was on my mind befuddled me. Although, I was quite sure she wasn't aware of my feelings for John.**

** "I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear."**

_I had my middle finger raised, trying to pull my medical glove tighter to my fingers. It was a lost cause, but it was worth trying. Mr. Summerson stood in front of me, naked from the waist down and looking just a bit awkward as any man would be in this situation.  
_  
_ "Just relax," I say, walking calmly towards him._

**"What did he say?" Mrs. Hudson asks.**

"Fu…"

_"Cough," I told the poor man, while examining his testicles with my gloved hand._

**"Ooh dear!" Mrs. Hudson exclaims. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Honestly, it's not that scandalous.**

_I sit at my computer, entering in Summersons conditions. The intercom beeped and I quickly switched it on._

_"Hi," Mary's sweet voice drifted through. Finally, some time to talk to her._

_"Mrs. Reeves. Thrush," she says. Of course, no luck. I can't even talk to my fiancée._

_"Right." I look up to the clock again, this time feeling hopeful. It's only 1:04. it has only been a couple of hours and the day is not even halfway over. Disappointment strikes me for the second time today._

**I stand near the window as I wait for Molly, hoping that this outing today will make up for the lack of John's presence. Molly walks into the room and takes her place behind me and waits for me to turn around.**

_"You wanted to see me?" She asks timidly._

_"Yes." I turn around and walk swiftly towards her. I take a deep breath and pray silently to myself. Hopefully, I can do this._

_"Molly?" I ask in my best seductive voice._

_"Yes?" I got her. Hook, Line, and Sinker._

_"Would you ..." I stop, looking down for a moment until I walk closer to her, "would you like to ..." I say slowly, drawing out my question. "…have dinner?"_

_"…solve crimes?" I finish._

_My suspensions were confirmed. Molly was still into me. I had no clue if I could use that to my advantage or if this information would drive a wedge between Molly and I._

_"Ooh," Molly says awkwardly looking down at her feet, a faint blush staining her cheeks._

_I write out a prescription for Mrs. Reeves who sits behind me._

_"Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Reeves. It's very common…" I turn and hand the prescription to her, "…but I'm recommending a course of…"_

**"…monkey glands," I say, looking at the wall.**

**Molly sits on a dining chair beside my armchair. She bites back a smile as I turn towards the two clients in the room. A woman is sitting in what was John's chair and a man stands beside her.**

**"But, enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr. Harcourt," I insist.**

**"Are you sure about this?" Molly asks timidly.**

**"Absolutely."**

**"Should I be making notes?" What an odd thing to ask.**

**"If it makes you feel better."**

**"It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John…" I abruptly cut her off, "You're not being John… you're being yourself." Plus, no one can replace my John, I think to myself.**

**I sit down and glance over at Molly. She's smiling to herself. "Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen," Mr. Harcourt claims.**

**I look closely at the couple in front of me, especially the man. I look closely at his jacket, then his hairline and then to the skin above his eyes. I stand and walk closer to him.**

**"Why didn't you assume it was your wife?" I ask harshly.**

**"Because I've always had total faith in her."**

**"No… it's because you emptied it. Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair," I whip out a business card and hold it out to Mrs. Harcourt, "lawyer. Next!"**

_Mary shows the next patient into the room and looks at me._

_"This is Mr. Blake," she whispers, "Piles." I nod politely._

_I sneak a small peek at the clock, showing that it's half past three. I turn and smile at my patient._

_"Mr. Blake, hi."_

**I sit on a stool close to the woman who is sitting on the sofa. I'm gently clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while I talk softly to her. "And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they?" I ask.**

**John would be proud of me. I'm comforting this crying woman. The woman nods, whimpering as she cries.**

**Molly looks across to her but then continues writing notes at the dining table. Her father is sitting beside the woman.**

**"And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life?" I ask softly. The woman takes off her glasses and cries harder. That's a better answer than what I would have got if she spoke out loud. I turn and look at Molly for a moment, then stand and walk across to her. Keeping my back to the clients, I speak quietly.**

**"Stepfather posing as online boyfriend."**

**"What?" Molly asks, outraged.**

**"Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home… he still has her wage coming in." I turn to the man and address him sternly.**

**"Mr. Windibank, you have been a complete and utter…"**

_"…piss pot," I say, holding up a small plastic cylinder used for collecting urine samples. I hand it to my latest patient._

_"It's nothing to worry about. Just a small infection by the sound of it. Er, Doctor Verner is your usual GP, yes?"_

_"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," the man replies, speaking in a rough voice with a thick accent. The man appears to be in his sixties, has long white hair and a white beard and is wearing very dark glasses and a black knitted hat. I look at him, slightly confused as to why he is here._

_"He looked after me, man and boy," he says. He beckons me to come closer._

_"I run a little shop, just on the corner of Church Street," he say confidentially._

_"Oh… right," I say as he picks up a plastic bag from the floor._

_"Magazines, DVDs. Brought along a few little beauties that might interest you," he takes a DVD from the bag and he shows it to me, "'Tree Worshippers.' Oh, that's a corker. It's very saucy." I nod in a bemused way, looking closely at the man. I'm beginning to suspect who he is. The man gets out a magazine and holds it up._

_"'British Birds.' Same sort of thing." The magazine cover shows two glamorous women in skimpy clothing, and some of the captions around the photograph read, 'We're a real handful' 'Hot British Birds! XXX' and 'Knocker Glory'._

_"I'm fine, thanks," I say as polite as I can muster. He holds up another DVD and translates its foreign title, "'The Holy War.' Sounds a bit dry, I know, but there's a nun with all these holes in her habit."_

_"Jesus, Sherlock…"_

_"Huh?"_

_"…what do you want?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Have you come to torment me?"_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"What are you talking…" I say, impersonating his accent, "what, d'you think I'm gonna be fooled by this bloody beard?" I start to pull the beard while Sherlock flails in panic._

_"Are you crazy?" Sherlock asks. He's really committed to this disguise. I straighten a little and imitate his flailing hands, mockingly saying, "No, no, no, no!" in the man's accent, then leans into his face._

_"It's not as good as your French. Not as good as your French. It's not even a good disguise, Sherlock!" I rip off the man's hat and glasses. The man stares up at me with a terrified look on his face._

_"Where'd you get it from? A bloody joke ... sh-shop ...?" Staring at the man with dawning horror, I reach out and pull his head forward to confirm that he genuinely is bald on top. Oh… damn._

_"Oh my God. Oh my God." The man whimpers as I gently put his glasses back onto his face._

_"I am so sorry. Oh my God." Mary comes in, having presumably heard the noise. I put the man's hat back onto his head._

_"Please forgive…" I look over at Mary, "It's fine," I say plaintively._

**"This one's got us all baffled," Lestrade says as he pulls down the police tape.**

**"Mmm. I don't doubt it," I say to myself. Lestrade opens the door and leads Molly and I down the stairs into the basement.**

**At the foot of the stairs, a large hole has been knocked through the brickwork of one wall. We climb through the hole and Lestrade switches on the mobile lighting which has been set up in the room.**

**The scene in front of me appears to be the 'skeleton mystery' which I had read earlier. A white-painted wooden table at the far end of the room, seated on a chair behind it is the skeleton dressed in an old-fashioned suit.**

**There is a carafe and a glass and what looks like a writing set on the table in front of it. The corpse is holding a syringe in one of its skeletal hands. Frowning, I begin to observe the details of the scene before I walk across the room. I lay my pouch of tools upon the table and get to work, examining the corpse's minute details.**

**Molly stands nearby, her notebook open and pen poised. I sniff the body and try to decide what I am picking up: PINE? SPRUCE? CEDAR! NEW MOTHBALLS! Moving on, I sniff again: Carbon particulate. I sniff more deeply: Fire Damage. I straighten up and shut my magnifier.**

**"What is it?" Molly asks. I whip my phone out and hold it up high to try and get a signal.**

**"You're on to something, aren't you?" Molly tries to capture my attention yet again.**

**"Hm… maybe." 'SHOW OFF!' Johns voice echoes in my head.**

**"Shut up, John," I whisper.**

**"What?" Molly asks, looking befuddled.**

**"Hm… oh… nothing," I say rather quickly. I walk around to the other side of the table and continue my investigation. As I carefully use tweezers to lift the lapel of the skeleton's jacket, Molly still stands some distance away waiting to write anything down. Lestrade leans in close.**

**"This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?" He asks, nodding towards Molly.**

**"Just giving it a go," I reply.**

**"Right. So, John?"**

**"Not really in the picture."**

**I move away from the table and turn back to look at the whole picture. Cement dust drifts down from the ceiling as a distant rumbling can be heard.**

**"Trains?" Molly asks.**

**"Trains." I drop into a squat and call up a mental compass showing the orientation of the room. I drum fingers in front of my mouth. Molly walks across to the body and looks at the bones in its neck. I stand up swiftly and walk over to join her.**

**"Male, forty to fifty," she looks round timidly at me, "Oh, sorry, did you want to be…?"**

**"Hm… no… please. Be my guest." 'JEALOUS?' John's voice sounds in my head again.**

**"Shut up!" I say angrily through gritted teeth. I take out my magnifier again to look more closely at the hand holding the syringe while Molly continues investigating the skeleton.**

**"Doesn't make sense," Molly says.**

**"What doesn't?" Lestrade asks. I gently blow away the dust around the hand and continue blowing towards the edge of the table.**

**"This skeleton… it's… it can't be any more than…" "…six months old," we say simultaneously.**

**I find a hidden compartment in the side of the table and open it. I slide out a book from inside it. I blow the dust from the cover, give it a sarcastic glance and show it to Molly. Scrawled across the cover are the words: How I Did It By Jack the Ripper.**

**"Wow."**

**"Hmm." I flamboyantly drop the book onto the table. Lestrade leans forward to peer at the cover. "'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper?" He asks, sounding flabbergasted.**

**"Mmhm."**

**"It's impossible!"**

**"Welcome to my world." 'SMART ARSE!' I grimace, flailing head around.**

**"Get out," I say quietly.**

**"I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."**

**"No, please… insult away!" Lestrade exclaims.**

**I already picked up my pouch and started heading for the door. 'You forgot to put your collar up' John's voice whispers in the back of my mind. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before turning back to the others.**

**"The corpse is six months old; it's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire-damage sale…" I get my phone out and show it to my two companions, "…a week ago."**

**"So, the whole thing was a fake?" Lestrade asks.**

**"Yes," I say as I start walking towards the door.**

**"Looked so promising."**

**"Facile."**

**"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" I hear Molly ask from where I am on the stairs.**

**"Why indeed, John?" I stop walking abruptly.**

**Did I just say that? I feel blush slowly rising up my neck. Damn!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the wait guys... I was at my sisters house and it was spring break and I have a feeling you just want the story... ANYWAYS story time I think you guys will love this. Kay bye! Enjoy! **

**Love a part of your story supplier,  
Haylee**

**WE DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK WE OWN MOST OF THE PLOTLINE OF THIS STORY**

My day could not get any worse. I attacked that poor man. Why did I attack him? Obviously he wasn't Sherlock. And even if he was, I still would have felt bad.

Hopefully, my day will get better. I do have my date with Mary tonight. I can properly ask her to marry me. Yes, I found my bright side. I just need to get through the rest of the day.

I feel my phone vibrate, buzzing with an incoming text message. I whip my phone from my back pocket and glance at the message.

_John, meet me at Speedy's in an hour. We need to talk._

_SH_

I groan internally. Damn man, thinking that I'm going to drop everything and come to his rescue. I quickly type out my reply and send it.

**No Sherlock. I'm not coming to you every time you need assistance. I have dinner plans with Mary and I'm not blowing her off for you.**

**JW**

_John, please. I need your help._

_SH_

I roll my eyes. Sherlock, you arrogant man. Just because you need help that doesn't mean I'm going to help. I send my reply.

**No. It's not happening. Goodbye. I'm at work and I can't talk at the moment. If you really need help call Greg.**

**JW**

Five minutes pass and I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God, he's actually gonna listen to me. But, my giddiness passes when my phone vibrates.

_Greg? I don't know a Greg._

_SH_

**-.- Lestrade. It's Lestrade, Sherlock. You'd think you would know his name by now.**

**JW**

I quickly type out another message, knowing that if I don't he would continue to text me. He always has to have the last word.

**_I have to go Sherlock. Stop texting me._**

**_JW_**

Another ten minutes pass and I finally believe I'm in the clear. Except, that two minutes later, I get yet another message from Sherlock. Next time I see him, he's coming out with another bloody nose.

_Have a lovely date._

_SH_

I'm slightly taken aback. I was expecting him to fight harder, to try to convince me to go with him. Has Sherlock finally grown up?

**I will.**

**JW**

I glance at the clock. Two more hours until my date. I can't wait to get off. I love my job, but on days like today I can't wait to leave.

Thirty minutes pass without a hitch. Good, I don't need any more people getting on my nerves. I feel my phone buzz again and I'm tempted to throw it at a wall. I restrain myself and check the messages. Speaking of getting on my nerves.

_John please talk to me. This is important._

_SH_

**What do you want Sherlock?**

**JW**

_I believe it's obvious. I need to talk to you._

_SH_

**About what? What is so important that you feel the need to interrupt me at work?**

**JW**

_I can't exactly do this over the phone. I need to tell you in person._

_SH_

**Sherlock, no. I have a date in an hour and a half. I'm not missing it.**

**JW**

_Mary told me that after work you always go to the park near your office. Plus, you get out in thirty minutes. Why don't you just meet me there?_

_SH_

**Fine, but if I'm late it's your head.**

**JW**

_Thank you._

_SH_

I'm going to kill that man. At least now he won't interrupt me anymore. Blasted idiot. This better be important. If not, I really will kill him.

The clock chimes that my shift is over. Mary comes in and kisses me.

"You better go. Sherlock doesn't seem like a patient man. Though, please don't be late," Mary says sweetly.

"I won't dear."

I grab her hand and pull her gently out of the building. We park across the street towards the park.

"I'll see you soon?" She asks

"Of course." I reply, kissing her one last time.

She starts strolling away and I can't help but to admire the way she walks. I smile slightly before heading inside the park. That idiot better not make me late.

"John."

I thought I heard my name but couldn't tell for sure. It may be Sherlock calling me, and if it is I could always leave him floundering. Oh well, Sherlock never did tell me an exact place to meet him. I'm getting frustrated. Why can't this man ever give me exact details of where to go? Why not frustrate him for a change?

"John Watson."

Okay, I heard clearly this time. I spin around and watch as a winded Sherlock walks briskly towards me. I'm smile to myself. Finally, I've annoyed Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"It's about time you noticed me John. I've been calling you for a good five minutes," Sherlock says irritably.

"How do you expect me to notice you when you wander around like some sort of ninja?"

"No. I do believe you were trying to avoid this meeting."

"Wow, for once you actually got a deduction wrong. I said I would come, didn't I? You didn't exactly give me a proper place of meeting. All you said was the park. How am I supposed to find you in a very large park?"

"I'm devilishly handsome and rather tall. I'm not that hard to miss."

I roll my eyes. The arse still doesn't know the meaning of modesty.

"Actually you would have been easier to find if you hadn't been hiding behind me this whole time."

"Maybe you should learn how to turn around and acknowledge the people attempting to get your attention."

"Maybe if you learned how to stop being a pompous dick I would acknowledge you."

"John, you know very well that I can not stop being myself. It is apart of my nature."

"Is that why you left?" I whisper.

"Excuse me?"

"Is that why you left? Because you're a conceited prat, who needs to prove his brilliantness by faking his death?"

"John, I…"

"You are my best friend Sherlock. How do you expect me not to take your actions to heart when I thought you actually killed yourself? Do you know how hard these last two years have been on me? The only thing that kept me alive was Mary."

"That's exactly why I made you come here today. I needed to talk to you about that."

"Well, go on. Talk, because I am having a hard time staying here in your presence." I say harshly.

"I wanted to apologize about leaving. Moriarty was tired of me. Apparently, I was just like all you ordinary people. But, seeing as I was his favorite, he wanted to end everything with a bang. I had to kill myself, to complete his story, or he would kill everyone I cared about. I obviously already knew his plan and I had help to prevent me from actually dying. I jumped off that building to keep you alive John. " Sherlock said. It seemed as if he was having a hard time telling me that he was as ordinary as the rest of us. God. This man doesn't know anything about anybody's feelings. Why does he have to make everything harder?

"But why didn't you leave some sort of note or something saying you weren't actually dead? You jumped off that building to keep me alive but it did the opposite. I literally felt like I was dying that whole entire time. You knew what I was like. You knew what something like that would do to me. I thought you killed yourself. Sherlock, if you ever do anything like that again or if you actually die, how am I supposed to know if you're alive or not? How do I believe that it's not all some plan to take down another person? How am I supposed to trust you again?" I huff. This man doesn't understand how us ordinary people work.

"John, I didn't tell you because I was afraid Moriarty's men would find out and come back to kill you. I had to break down his operation before I could come back," He was looking kind of flustered and I hoped he feels it. He deserves it.

"So, there wasn't a way for you to tell me without all the people you cared for dying?"

"No. Not at all. Why fake my death to save you, only to have you die anyway?"

I search his face for any detection of a lie. He seems genuine about everything. Only after I finish do I realize how close I am to him. During our row we must have drifted closer together and now I'm six inches from his face. I back up carefully and try to compose myself.

"I understand, but that doesn't mean I'm not still angry with you."

"I have a feeling you're always angry with me. I am a pompous dick, remember?" He replies cheekily.

"Yes. Of course. I'm always irritated with you. Just warn me next time. That's all I ask."

"I don't plan on pulling that stunt again. Besides who would believe me?"

"Bloody idiot. Think you're so smart, don't you?"

"Quite often, yes."

He stares at me and smiles brightly. Now that's something you don't see everyday. A smiling Sherlock. I like this smiling thing. He should do more. I couldn't help but smile back at him. I was still slightly mad at him, but I didn't see anything wrong with trying to get back to normal.

"I should probably be leaving. Give you time to process this information," Sherlock says.

"Oh, right. Goodbye then."

"Good night John."

That's strange. Why did he say night? It's the afternoon.

"It's not night, Sherlock. The sun is still out. I understand you don't know anything about how the solar system works, but I'm not going to sleep."

"Yes, but I figured goodbye would be too much for you to handle," he replies with a smile.

Oh, that little shit. A considerate little shit but a little shit nonetheless.

"Shut up. You knew perfectly well what I meant."

"Did I?"

"I'll be going now," I say smiling at him.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Alright then."

"Yeah."

"Shouldn't you be leaving?" He asks.

"Oh… yeah… right. Sorry."

"Goodbye John."

"Goodbye Sherlock."

He smiles at me once again before spinning around and strolls towards the street. I turn as well and begin to walk. I turn my head to glance at Sherlock. I continue walking but I can't help but sneak another peek at him. He's attempting to hail a taxi.  
I stop abruptly and pray that I am not making the wrong decision. I turn and jog haphazardly towards my best friend.

"Sherlock?" I ask as I approach him.

"Yes?" He replies looking at me with a bemused expression.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"No. Not at all."

I push the doorbell for the flat in front if me and instead of a normal ding or buzz there's a recording of a mans voice saying, "Mind the gap. Mind the gap." I personally don't think this was funny. Just sort of weird. I hope this man plans on coming out soon. Sherlock was getting impatient and so was I. A young man opened the door and Sherlock hands him a strange hat. The man reaches towards the hat and takes it.

"Thanks for hanging onto it."

"No problem," Sherlock replies swiftly.

I look at him questioningly and he mouths 'Mycroft'. Of course, Sherlock is making his brother's life hell.

The man led us inside and Sherlock asks, "So what's this all about, Mr. Shilcott?"

He's leading us farther into his flat and all of this train memorabilia appears. The room we are taken up to is encompassed by a train set with Tube trains. Why would anybody like trains this much? I look at the walls all around the room and there was a photo of Mr. Shilcott wearing what appeared to be the hat Sherlock gave him with a big smile and two thumbs up. The train didn't look like it was a British train so I assumed it was somewhere in the U.S. There is a fine line between loving something and being obsessed with it and this man has definitely crossed that line.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," he man says.

Oh god, girlfriend? Seriously?

Sherlock chuckled and looked at the man, "Girlfriend?"

Jesus Sherlock, you don't say that out loud. I look at him with raised eyebrows, hoping he understand what I'm trying to tell him. 'Sherlock stop being a dick'. He looks down momentarily with a bit of a frown on his face and then looks back up and says, "Sorry. Go on."

"I like trains."

Oh really? I seriously couldn't tell by the amount that you have in your flat.

"Yes," Sherlock replies, looking over to me. He's trying not to laugh and I feel myself holding a bit of laughter in as well.

"I work on the Tube, On the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after its been cleared."

Mr. Shilcott sits down at his computer and continued on saying, "I was just whizzing through and… uh… I found something just a bit bizarre."

"Oh!" Sherlock says, as he looks towards me in a quirky manner. God that man is adorable. I mean in a completely platonic way.

Mr. Shilcott pulls up the footage and Sherlock and I walk to separate sides of him to look at the screen. The footage shows a platform of the tube station with a train stopped with all of its doors open. There's a man and he appears to be the only there. He has on business attire and is carrying a briefcase. All in all it doesn't look bizarre at all.

"Now, this was a week ago. The last train on Friday night, Westminster station, and this guy gets into the last car."

"Okay wait car? Aren't they carriages?"

He looks at me with an annoyed expression. Great, I'm about to get a history lesson.

"They are cars, not carriages. It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system."

"Oh. Well okay." I turn around to give Sherlock a look of annoyance and Sherlock just smiles at me.

"He did say he liked trains didn't he?"

"Hmm. Yes. Yes he did."

"And the next stop… St James's Park station and…" He shows us the footage but this time it shows the doors opening and no one gets out. Hmm, that's odd.  
I turn to Sherlock and he looks so much more interested than he did five minutes ago. I look back at the footage. The doors on the car close again. This is all just a bit weird.

"I thought you'd like it", the strange man says as he replays the footage so we can have a look at it again.

"He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger… and the car is empty at St. James's Park station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes."

"Couldn't he have just jumped off the carriage though?" I ask.

Sherlock looks at me with a pained expression and shakes his head as Mr. Shilcott proceeds to tell me about the train.

"There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit."

"Oh… yes… of course. How could I have been so stupid?" I ask, looking at Sherlock with an irritated expression on my face. He smiles and shrugs.

"But there's something else. The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flat mate, he's on holiday. Came into some money."

"Bought off?" Sherlock looks at me.

"Most likely," I reply.

"So if the driver of the train was in on this whole thing, then the passenger did get off?" Sherlock asks as Mr. Shilcott shakes his head.

"There's nowhere he could go. It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels. Nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, isn't it?"

I look over to Sherlock and he has his eyes closed. I'd wager he is replaying everything to see if he can find more. He always does this if he can't figure it out. It's nice to see he can't get everything right in the first try. His eyes open and he turns back.

"I know that face," he says.

I don't see how he does but he closes his eyes once more and this time I know he's in his Mind Palace. He walks away and goes down the stairs and I wonder if he knows what he's doing. Probably not. I better go see where he's at. I walk down the stairs and find Sherlock standing at the bottom. His eyes are still closed. After a moment he opens them, but still has a far off look.

"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes… ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park," he looks over at me and goes on to say, "I'm going to need maps… lots of maps, older maps, all the maps."

"Right. Say please."

Sherlock looks at me and I can tell he is not in the mood for something like this. I raise my eyebrows and give him a sarcastic smirk.

"Please," he says through gritted teeth.

"Oh, alright. I'll get them. There was no need to beg."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and walks to the door then stops. He turns around and asks me the last thing I ever thought I would hear him say.

"Fancy some chips?"

"But I thought you wanted to get maps."

"Yes. I do. But I also want some chips. You in?"

"I guess I am a little bit hungry."

"Great. I know a fantastic fish shop just off Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Yes, I know Sherlock. We've been there before, remember?"

"Oh. Well, then lets go."

"Right."

The waitress sets the chips in front of us and Sherlock and I dig in. They are as good as I remember them. I smile over at Sherlock and he sticks his tongue out at me.

"What's with you?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem oddly happy."

"Is there something wrong with being happy now?"

"Not at all. Just out of character for you."

"Would you rather have me insulting you?"

"Oh please. Insult me all you like."

Sherlock glares at me and steals the chip I was about to grab. What a prick. I watch as he puts it in his mouth and chews. I smile to myself.  
He reaches out for another chip, but I intercept and grab it before he can. He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Is that a challenge?" He asks.

"No. Not at all," I reply innocently.

He reaches out for another, and I intercept him again. He tries again, but my hand blocks the chip. He glares at me yet again and reaches for the largest chip in the basket. My hand shoots out to grab it, but instead of the chip I feel Sherlock's fingers. I pull away quickly and glance at him.

He has a large, dopey grin on his face and I assume it's because he won the chip. He looks at me and this time I stick my tongue out at him.

"So, John? What have you been up to lately?"

"Nothing really. My life is sort of boring."

"Really? What about Mary?"

"Mary's good. Actually, we have a…"

I glance down at my watch, hoping that it doesn't say what I think it does.

"Shit! Ooh, shit! God damn it!"

"What is it?"

"I'm late. I'm sorry Sherlock. I have to go. I'm late. Shit! Shit! Taxi!" I exclaim, "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry I made you late."

"It's okay. Good night."

"Good night."

I jump into the taxi and watch Sherlock as I speed away. He looks dejected and I assume it's because he feels guilty. A Sherlock with feelings? How nice.  
I take some deep breaths and brace myself for the anger that I'm going to face in a few short minutes.

I open the door to our flat and the lights are on. Shit. She's home. Maybe she's forgotten that I forgot about her. Or quite possibly she forgot about the date as well.

"John? Is that you?" Mary's voice drifts towards me. Naturally, she sounded pissed. Great.

"Yes dear." Might as well suck up to her now.

"John would you mind telling me where you were because it was obvious you weren't on a date with me."

"I was with Sherlock and I forgot about our date. Mary, I am so sorry and it will never happen again."

"Of course you were with Sherlock."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"John, it's like you're in love with him."

"I am not in love with Sherlock Holmes."

How could she think that? That will never, ever happen in a million years.

"Are you sure? You blew me off to spend time with him," Mary responded, her voice bellowing with anger.

"He's my best friend and I haven't seen him in two years."

"Yes, because he left. He faked his death, for who knows what reason, left you to suffer, then comes waltzing back into your life like nothing happened. Who does that?"

"He did it to save my life."

"Oh, right. 'Cause leaving definitely helped. You're perfectly okay."

"Stop throwing that back in my face. I'm... of course I'm not okay. The woman I love doesn't like my best friend."

"What should I do? This man practically killed you. Nothing will ever change that."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Like it or not, he's my friend."

"John, this is insane. How could you…"

"No. I don't care. I'm leaving. I'll talk to you later."

"John, wait. Where are you even going?"

"I don't know, but I can't stay here anymore."

I rush out of my flat and hail a taxi. I can't believe Mary. Why doesn't she understand? He's my best friend.

The taxi pulls up in front of me and I quickly climb inside. As I shut the door, rain begins to fall heavily. Great, this couldn't get any worse.

"Look, buddy. It's been a long day. Just tell me where you need to go," the driver says irritability.

I take a deep breath. I probably should have thought of a place to go before I got inside the cab. I think carefully, and before I know what I'm doing the words that changed my life slip past my lips.

"221B Baker Street."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N We would like to apologize. When we first put up this chapter I wasn't aware that it didn't have the whole plot. Haylee is never gonna let me forget. So if you already read this chapter, great. I hope you like the added parts. And if you didn't, I hope you enjoy.  
**

Sherlock's POV

I barely make out the sound of knocking on the door. It's not a client, they rarely knock. Mrs. Hudson has a key, so it's obviously not her. That only leaves Mycroft. Blasted idiot, I'm working on the case.

I walk down the stairs and approach the front door. I hear the sounds of muffled sobs mixing with the sounds of the rain coming from the other side of the door. John is right, I don't always pay attention to what's going on around me. I grip the handle tightly and yank the door open.

The man standing on my stoop sends shivers down my spine. Rain drips down from his hair and into his eyelashes, which I assume are already filled with his tears. He rubs his right arm subconsciously and I see the healing scars that mar his skin peeking out from beneath his jacket.

"Sherlock?" He asks hoarsely.

"John, come here. Get out of rain. You're going to get sick," I say grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

"Since when do you care?" He asks dejectedly.

"For some time now. Plus I'm sure Mary will kill me if you get sick."

At the sound of Mary's name, tears flood out of his eyes. Shit! I don't know how to handle a crying John. What am I suppose to do in a situation like this?

I hear Molly's voice in my head telling me to calm him down. How on Earth do I calm him? This is John. His probably going to kill me for seeing him cry.

Unable to determine what a normal person would do, I pull him close and allow him to cry into my shirt. His skin is ice cold and the rain begins to seep into my clothes, but I ignore it and hold John closer to me.

"John, what happened?"

"Ma… Mary and I… ha…had a… fight," he stutters into my shirt.

He sounds heartbroken and I feel my own heart twist at that thought. John shouldn't have to feel like that. He's far too compassionate for that kind of pain.

"Come on, let's get you out of these wet clothes."

I lead him up the stairs and into his old bedroom. I set him down on the bed and walk to the dresser to get dry garments. I toss the fabrics to him and head for the door.

"I'm going to make you tea. Get changed," I say.

Am I doing this right? Is this how you help calm someone down? All my doubts threaten to crush me. I need to help John. He would do the same for me.

I begin make the tea and allow my mind to wander towards the man currently in my care. What could they possibly be fighting about that led John to come to Baker Street? He, above all others, should know how terrible I am with feelings.

He came here, knowing that I'm no good with sympathy. I don't even know what I'm doing, let alone know if I can help him.

I finish making the tea and carry it carefully to John's room. I glance over at his bed, only to see that he's in the same position I left him. I set the tea tray down on his dresser and walk towards him.

"John, you need to change out of those clothes. You'll get sick," I say.

He doesn't move or even acknowledge me. Not this again.

"Damn it John! Stop being a stubborn idiot and change out of those clothes. If you don't, you'll get sick and I'll have to nurse you back to health. And I'm sure you don't want to deal with me being a smart mouth"

"Sherlock you're always a smart mouth."

"Thank you. Now change before I make you."

"I'd like to see you try."

I glare intensely at him. What's he playing at? Well, time to test this theory. This should be interesting. I grip his arm and gently pull him to his feet.

I grab his jacket and help him out of the wet garment. He doesn't respond, just continues to stare blankly at the ground. I proceed to grab the hem of his shirt and begin pulling it up. His head snaps up.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?" He asks fearfully.

"I told you that if you didn't change I would make you. Plus you told me you would like to see me try. You ought to know I never back down from a challenge," I reply promptly.

"Okay, okay. I'll change."

I smile smugly and walk back towards the door.

"Let me know when you're done."

"Smug little bastard," I hear him mutter under his breath.

I chuckle softly. I'm certain that my stunt helped him. Now I know that instead of being sweet, I need to be the royal arse he has come to know.

After five minutes I hear John calling me. I walk back in and find him sitting on the edge of his bed, finally in the dry clothes.

"It's about time you changed. For a second I thought I would have to strip you down and force you to get dressed," I say arrogantly.  
He doesn't respond or even look up at me. Damn it John! Just look at me already. I'm not that hard to see. I'm literally right in front of you.

"Okay. How about some tea?"

"I don't want any."

"But tea is exactly what the doctor ordered."

"Sherlock, you're not a doctor."

"Well, tonight I am. So drink."

Before he can say no again I grab the closest cup and fill it with tea. I walk over and hand it to him. He looks up at me with a befuddled look before taking the cup and bringing it to his lips. He takes a cautious sip then places it back on the saucer.

"Thank you," he say impassively.

"Right."

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you being so… caring?"

"Isn't that what people do? Try to cheer their friends up?"

"Yes. I guess."

"Are you going to explain why you came?"

He looks down and I can see him clenching his hand. He's nervous, which I don't see why. It was just a fight. Not the end of the world.

"Mary and I had a fight," he says slowly.

"Thank you John. I was not aware."

I hear him chuckle softly. I smile to myself. I am helping.

"Well, it was a stupid fight. And somethings were said. I couldn't take it anymore. So, I left and came here."

"Care to tell me what you two were fighting about?"

"Oh… um… you," he says awkwardly.

"Me?"

"Uh… yeah. She was upset that I blew her off to spend time with you."

"Oh. Your date was tonight. I'm sorry John."

"It's okay. We just need some time apart to cool down."

"Well, you're welcome to stay here."

Before I can comprehend what's happening I hear the cup shattering. John springs from the bed, winds his left hand around my scarf, pulls me down to his height and kisses me firmly.

I was confused. John was kissing me. This shouldn't be happening. He was getting married. I can't kiss him. It's wrong.

But why does it feel right? His lips were soft against mine. I feel my eyes drift shut and I tentatively kiss him back. My arms snake around his waist and I feel him playing with my hair. I can't help the moan that escapes past my lips.

I feel him stiffen and slowly begin to pull away. I unwind my arms from around his waist and back up slowly. He looks up at me with a look of horror.

"Oh my God. Sherlock… I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"John, it's okay."

"It just that when Mary first found out about… you know… she said that…"

"John…"

"What was I thinking? I'm a complete idiot. I shouldn't have come here. I ruin everything."

"John… John… look at me. It's okay. I'm not mad. Everything's fine."

"Everything's fine? I just cheated on my fiancée with my best friend, and you have the audacity to say everything's fine?"

"Yes, I do. It meant nothing. We obviously don't have feelings for each other. It was an accident, a fluke. That's it. Nothing more," I choke out.

"But Sherlock…"

"No. John, it was an accident. You and I both know how much you care for Mary. That little scene never happened."

"Never happened?"

"Not at all."

"So, we just… forget?"

"Yes. We forget."

But I knew I would never forget. No matter how hard I try, that moment would be burned into my mind, teasing me. That's my curse. To remember what could have been.

I look at John as the awkwardness looming in the air threatens to crush us. I make a fist and hold it out in front of me. He looks at me with a look of befuddlement painting his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I saw it on the Telly once."

He raises an eyebrow before bumping his fist against mine. I give him a knowing smile.

"Well, I should be leaving. You look exhausted. You should be getting to sleep," I say.

"Right. Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

I turn swiftly and walk out the door. I grab the door handle and close it silently behind me. I heard John mutter something as I was closing the door, but for once it was to quiet for me to catch.

I walk to my own room and collapse on the bed. **What just happened? That wasn't supposed to happen. That shouldn't have happened. How could you take advantage of John?**

_Like you regret it. Honestly, you've wanted to do that for years._ **No. It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it.** _What were you supposed to do? Leave him out in the rain?_

I growl quietly. My damn mind won't shut up. How can I do anything if my mind won't take a holiday? I shouldn't let my own mind plague me.

Thirty minutes pass before I finally can't take it. Screw consciousness. Anything would be better than the battle raging inside my head.

I quickly stand and strip before collapsing on my bed again. I pull the duvet over myself and close my eyes. I fall asleep with the thought of John kissing me still fresh.

I wake to what sounds like a wounded animal. The memories of what happened hours ago bombard me. I check the clock on my bedside, 4:37.

I groan. I was planning on getting more sleep. Then I remember what woke me up in the first place. Shit! John is having a nightmare. I spring off my bed and start heading towards my door.

Wait, Sherlock. Pants would help. I begin searching for the elusive garment. I find them hiding underneath my bed. I swiftly pull them on and barrel out my room.

I attempt to walk quietly to John's room. His muffled cries send jagged knives to my heart. I did this. This is because I jumped, because I came back, and because I was slowly driving a wedge between him and his girlfriend. The very girlfriend that resents me.

Can't say I blame her. I resent myself. I hurt the one person I cared for the most. Two years I was gone and he had a bad go at everything. Mrs. Hudson said she would often find him staring into space muttering nonsense. More often than not he would just stay in his bed for days on end.

And when he finally starts getting his life together, I strut back in and ruin it. Sometimes I wish John never met me. His life would be far better if I never came to darken his doorstep. He would be better off without me as a sorry excuse of a friend.

I slowly open his bedroom door and stroll to his bed. He looks pained and tears roll down his face. Another stab to my heart. I gingerly wipe away the unwanted tears and I feel John relax under my hand.

His cries stop and he sleeps peacefully. I was rather surprised. I thought it would be harder to get John to calm down, seeing how long it took me to get him to change out of those wet clothes.

He looks…adorable. There I said it. He was adorable when he slept. His frown disappeared and his lips were slightly parted. I remember the way they felt slowly moving against mine.

Stop thinking about that! Like you said, it was a fluke. It's never going to happen again. Besides, he's getting married. There's no hope. You're better off forgetting your feelings. Just forget everything that happened. Forgive, forget, move on.

But how could I move on? How could I forget? He's here, sleeping in his old room. Sleeping in a large, empty bed. A rather large bed. Practically comical.

Oh, how I wanted to climb in there with him. Hold him close like I did earlier. But I couldn't do that. I'll never get the chance to do that again.

"Sherlock."

For a second, I thought that John had awakened to find me staring at him. No. He was still asleep. Wait. Was he dreaming about me? Affection surged to my heart, replacing the pain. John…dreaming…about me? I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl.

"Sherlock."

John rolls over on his side and his now back is facing me. I sigh, turn around, and start heading towards the door. Just because he's dreaming about me doesn't mean anything.

"Sherlock… stay."

I stop dead in my tracks. Did I hear him right? Did he ask me to stay? No of course not. He's obviously asleep. Why would he ask me to stay if he isn't aware that I'm here?

I turn my head to look at him. His back is still facing me. **I really shouldn't stay, it would be wrong.** _But he looks so small in that bed of his._ **Plus, it's going to be cold tonight. I wouldn't want him to lose any toes now would I?**

I feel my resolve crumble. I climb into the immense bed, careful not to move too much in case John woke up. I am a horrid human being. I shouldn't be doing this. What if I get caught?

At first I didn't notice that my arms wound their way around him, but I did notice the content sigh John uttered as he nestled against me. I pulled him closer to me and fell asleep to the sounds of his breathing.

John's POV

I roll over and feel that the space beside me is still warm. That's odd. Mary wasn't with me when I fell sleep. Then everything that happened last night washes over me. My fight with Mary, Sherlock helping me calm down, the kiss.

Oh my God. I kissed Sherlock. Oh God. What was I thinking? That shouldn't have happened. I can't believe I did that. I am despicable.

Okay John, relax. No need to work yourself up. The both of you agreed that it never happened. There is no need to continue thinking about it. Everything is under control.

Now to focus on something else. I breathe in and the only thing I can smell is the delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafting through the air.

Is Sherlock making breakfast? Dear God, I'm delirious. He would never do that.

I stand and stretch and start walking towards the amazing smells. Standing in front of the oven is a bedraggled Sherlock. Wearing nothing but pants. Wow he's really pale. But then again so am I.

"Sherlock? What are you doing? And where are your clothes?" I ask, my voice still groggy.

"Making breakfast," he replies calmly.

"Why?"

"Because I am hungry. I'm sorry I wasn't aware that it is against the law to eat."

"Okay. What about the fact that you are in nothing but your pants?"

"Food comes before clothes."

"Right. I'm going to wash up. You've better have made me some."

"You do that."

I chuckle and walk to the loo. Still the same sarcastic twat. I relieve myself and quickly wash my hands. I sneak a glance at myself in the mirror. I feel panic slowly start to bubble up inside me.

What if Sherlock brings up last night? What if he wants to talk about everything that happened? I can't deal with that. It's bad enough I betrayed Mary, I don't need Sherlock on my case.

I think about bolting before he has the chance of bringing it up. But I can't do that. I already ran from Mary, and look where that landed me. No, I need to face this like a man. No running this time.

I take three deep breaths. I carefully open the door and walk back into the kitchen. Sitting at the table is Sherlock, shoveling food into his mouth, and a plate with a large amount of bacon and eggs. I sit down and take a small piece of bacon.

"Good morning John," Sherlock says cheerfully.

"Morning. What's got you so happy?"

"Why is it people think I can't be a lively person?"

"Because you generally hate most people and all you ever do is sulk. The only thing that really gets you excited is murder."

He frowns at me, most likely because I'm right. I pop the bacon in my mouth. The juices dance across my tastebuds. I take a large amount of eggs and eat that as well. Surprisingly delicious.

"Where on Earth did you learn to cook?"

"Must you always be surprised by my actions? I am capable of doing ordinary activities."

"Sorry, didn't know you were snippy this morning."

Sherlock looked at me curtly and rolled his eyes. He ate the last remaining food on his plate, rose from his seat and put his dish in the sink.

"Aren't you going to wash that?" I asked.

"I made breakfast, you can clean."

He strolled into his bedroom and emerged fully dressed in a purple button up and black trousers. He grabbed his phone from the table and walked to the living room, ruffling my already messy hair along the way.

"It's weird seeing you in such a good mood. You're so out of character," I say teasingly.

"Honestly, if you want me to act like an obnoxious prat, which we both know I'm not, all you need to do is ask."

"What makes you think you can't be a prat?"

"Depending on how you define prat, I am either a person's buttock or an incompetent, foolish person. As far as I'm aware, I am neither of those."

I groan internally. Naturally, Sherlock had to be right about everything. For once, couldn't he let me have the last word?

"John?" Obviously I couldn't have the last word.

I sigh, " Yes Sherlock?"

" I have a case. You want come solve it with me? It should help get your mind off Mary."

"I guess. Ill have to face her sometime. That sometime will have to wait. Right then. Lets go solve some crimes, Batman."

Sherlock looks at me weirdly but puts on a bright smile.

"To the bat mobile, Robin."

After the case was solved Sherlock decided to go and pick up another case. I just wasn't feeling it so I decided to go back to Baker Street. As I went into the flat I made my way over to my chair to sit.

I started to think about the fight I had with Mary and how pointless it was. I really wanted to make up with her. That's it. I'm going to make up with her. I grab my things from the flat and I grab a cab.

As I get into the back I tell the cabbie where to go and after a short ten minutes I arrive. Home. I open up the door with my keys and call out, "Anyone home?"

"John? Is that you?"

"Yes. It's me."

Mary runs out from the living room and into my arms.

"Oh honey I'm so sorry. Please come back."

"I'm sorry also Mary. I shouldn't have stood you up on our date. I forgot and I just... I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"I forgive you. I'm sorry for insinuating that you were in love with Sherlock. I will try to like him John. I really will. Just for you. But next time please don't stand me up or forget about our dates. Okay?" I think back to mine and Sherlocks kiss and I try to forget about it. I want to tell her but I just can't.

"Okay."

I lean in and kiss her and I can't help but notice that it doesn't feel the same as it used to. I shake that feeling off and wonder if Mary wants to do something.

"Mary would you like to go on that date I missed? I feel the need to make it up to you."

"Of course I would John. Let me go and get ready." She walks up the stairs and turns the corner.

I really want to back to being with her again. I want things to be back to normal.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N CAM won't be in this story. I find him annoying and Haylee agrees. He's stupid and I don't want him flicking my John.  
The night John visits Sherlock was the night he was barbecued in the show.

Sherlock's POV

As I sit in my armchair, I can't help but think of how bored I am. The constant tapping of fingers and sighs harmonize together, creating music of boredom and annoyance. My parents are here and I couldn't be anymore agitated than I am now. My blasted mother didn't understand the simple concept of shutting up. I used to tell her that if she didn't close her mouth flies would crawl in there and make themselves at home.

"...which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'" my mother says.

I fake a little nodding off gesture, hoping my mother understands I find her infuriating, but it doesn't work. My mother looks to my father who has always been less of an annoyance.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so."

Oh, how I wish I could leave this room. I glance towards the kitchen, silently praying that they would hurry up and leave me be.

"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses."

"Glasses."

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What – like Larry Grayson?'"

"Larry Grayson," my father repeats.

I stand up quickly and button my jacket. I make my way towards my parents. I make a small effort at being polite and try to put a little something into the conversation.

"So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" I ask.

I step up onto the sofa in between my parents in hopes to annoy them. Mother leans away from me and Father just stares at me messing with the paper on the wall. I flick through a couple of pages to make it look like I'm doing work.

Hoping to make them stop talking. Hope. Always hoping. But hope never comes through for me.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament…"

Hmm, how interesting. Could this have something to do with that case Mycroft wants me to work on?  
"…some big debate going on," mother says.

The door bursts open and John walks through it. I immediately start blushing for no reason. Okay Sherlock. Breath. Don't let him know.

"John!" I say rather flustered.

I don't want him to see my parents. This is embarrassing. He does not need to meet my parents. He never needs to meet them.

"Sorry… you're busy," he says.

I stepped off the sofa and reached down to pull my mother up. She can't be here. No way. Not now.

"Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving."

"Oh, were we?" My mother asks.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case…" John mutters.

"No, not a case, no-no-no," I look over at my mother, "Go. 'Bye."

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember."

Just go away, preferably quickly.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out," I say as I usher them to the door.

"Well, give us a ring," mother says pleasantly. More like annoying

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out."

Good they're gone. I try and close the door but the door refuses to close. I look down to see mother's foot preventing me from closing the door. Damn it woman. I pull the door open a little bit, not wanting to hurt her, but still wanting her to leave. I stare down rudely at her foot and than back at her.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you," she says quietly.

I look to John quickly and I'm relieved to find him over by the window, looking uncomfortable with his back to all of us.

"We're just so pleased it's all over."

I frown and try and slam the door on her foot so she'll move and leave, but she doesn't budge. Not one bit. Father looks at me with a pleasant smile.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" He asks.

"Mm-hmm."

"She worries."

"Promise?" Mother asks.

I sneak a look back at John and turn back hoping he doesn't hear me. I lean closely to my mother and smile sweetly. Hopefully they'll leave.

"Promise."

She smiles wholeheartedly and reaches up to stroke my face. Mother, one day I'm going to kill you.

"Oh, for Godsakes…"

I slam the door and it finally closes. I take a deep breath before turning to John.

"Sorry about that," I say impassively.

" No, it's fine. Clients?"

"…Just my parents." I say, blushing slightly.

"Your parents?" He asks flabbergasted.

"In town for a few days."

"Your parents?"

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of 'Les Mis'. Tried to talk me into doing it."

"Those were your parents?" He asks yet again, while walking towards the window to look out.

Yes John. My parents. I have them. Everyone does. I sigh and look to John with an embarrassed face.

"Yes."

"Well…That is not what I…" he said, chuckling.

He looks at me and the memory of our kiss springs from the dark recess of my mind. I look down, blushing a brilliant scarlet. I've been doing that quite often. He chuckles again.

"What?"

"You're…I mean they're just… so…" he breaks off, searching for the proper word to describe them.

Wow, John. I didn't expect you to be rude like this. Normally I'm the one to insult people. I glare at him, silently challenging him to finish his thought. Just say it John.

"…ordinary," he finally says.

I was taken aback. He liked my parents? Weird. Most people don't. He smiles genuinely at me. John stop. I don't want to blush all night. I find it quite repugnant.

"It's a cross I have to bear," I say sarcastically.

He chuckles and slowly walks around the room before coming back to the same place he was in. Counterproductive John. Honestly, if you were just going to go back to the same place again, why would you move in the first place?

"Did they know, too?" John ask dejectedly.

He had to bring this up? We were doing such a good job avoiding it. I look down to my feet.

"Hmm?"

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

I fidget around a little bit before responding.

"Quite possibly."

"Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral. I always thought it was because they couldn't bare the pain of losing their son."

"Sorry. Sorry again."

"Mm." He looks at me with a hard glare.

"I see you've shaved it off, then. I didn't notice that it wasn't there when we kis… when we last saw each other."

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me," he replies, ignoring my slip up.

"Mm, I'm glad."

"What, you didn't like it?"

"No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven." I say smiling.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day!"

He walks around once more and ends up at his chair. He sits down, grunting on the way.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Yeah, not bad. Mary and I had a talk and we worked things out. We are all good now," He said smiling.

"Right… yeah… good."

"About what happened last night… I'm sorry."

"John. It's fine. That happened ages ago. Just forget it."

"Okay… sorry," he says.

I notice he's clenching him hand again. Time to change the subject.

"Look at my rats, John."

"Rats?"

"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, I know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normal, but the sixth…" I say,pointing to the photograph of the man.

"Wait, isn't that the guy from the Tube car? If not, it certainly looks like him."

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment. I did not recognize him from the Tube car until now. Thank you John."

"Yes! You're welcome! That's definitely him."

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?"

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."

I turn to go and sit at the desk where my laptop is to show John the video again. John stands takes his coat off, laying it on his chair. He makes his way towards me and looks at the screen.

"Still odd that he didn't get off. There's nowhere he could have gotten off?" John asks.

" Not according to the maps."

"Hmmm."

"There's something… something I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

"Any idea who they are – this underground network?"

I look at some photos of Lord Moran walking along the Houses of Parliament. It says he just came from Westminster station. This bothers me so much. How did this man not come back?

"Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones," John says cheekily.

"Our rat's just come out of his den."

"Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're gonna make an appearance." As John rambles on I get a hit. Something I've been looking at and it finally struck me. I jump up triumphantly.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot… a blind idiot!"

"What? Don't get me wrong, I love it when you insult yourself."

"Ignoring that. Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant,"I say pacing across the room.

"What are you on about?"

"Mycroft's intelligence… it's not nebulous at all. It's specific… incredibly specific."

"What do you mean?"

"Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network."

"Right… what?"

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you straight in the face," I say replaying the video of the man getting into the Tube for John.

"Look… seven carriages leave Westminster, " the video switches to the next station, "but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park."

"But that's…it's impossible," he stutters.

"Moran didn't disappear… the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where?! You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth," I say, pointing at the screen to show John what I was seeing.

"That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

"It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Bonfires are starting to pop up everywhere."

"What do bonfires have to do with anything?"

"Everything John. What's the date, today's date?"

"Hmm? November the…My God." He's got it too. My John. We are the best damn consulting detectives around. Well, the only ones. But that's only because ordinary people are idiots and didn't think to come up with something as genius as consulting detective. I slowly walk towards the wall of information.

"Lord Moran… he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill. But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November," I say smiling.

"Remember, remember."

"Gunpowder, treason and plot."

-

Mr. Shilcott's head pops up on my laptop screen, wearing his ridiculous hat, while John and I are frantically searching through maps and papers on the kitchen table.

"There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sightings, no ghost stations," the man said.

Oh please. I know I'm right about this. Just check the bloody video and take a long look at some maps. It's not that hard. I turn the laptop so John can see the screen too.

"There has to be. Check again," I say irritably.

Mr. Shilcott goes to look at some of the papers on his desk and John looked at maps with that cute little thinking face I adore. Sherlock, get your head out of the gutter.

"Look… this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand…" John said, before I interrupted.

"No, it's none of those. We've accounted for those."

Come on John. Get your head in the game. I take the map in my hands to get a closer look.

"St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…" I look at Mr. Shilcott to see if he recognizes any of the names. He currently has a bauble from his hat in his mouth and its making me disgusted because I put that hat on my head. He removes it from his mouth and looks at me excitedly.

"Hang on, hang on. Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr. Holmes?"

He leaned to the left to look for a book and then came back,"There is something. I knew it rang a bell. Where is it? There was a station down there."

"Well, why isn't it on the maps?" John asked.

"'Cause it was closed before it ever opened,"

"What?"

Mr. Shilcott held up a book of London's underground network and showed it to us.

"They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface," he said as he pointed to the spot of what he was talking about.

"It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster," I muttered.

"And so what's down there? A bomb?" John asks.

I stand up and started making my way towards the outside of Baker Street. Not worrying about if John would follow me or not because where I go he follows.

"Oh…" I hear John mutter, along with the sound of him turning the laptop off. And then footsteps.

"Where are we going?" John asks.

"Parliament. We have a bomb to defuse."

John and I walk briskly along the road next to the Houses of Parliament and head to the stairs leading down into Westminster station. We make our way down to where we need to be and stop.

"So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb," John asks timidly.

"Must be."

"Right."

John takes his glove off and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He dials the numbers before I can say stop.

"What are you doing, John?"

"Calling the police."

"What? No!"

"Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."

"They'll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient."

I stop at a locked maintenance entrance. I take out a crowbar from my coat and start wrenching the gate open.

"And illegal."

"Just a bit."

I finally get the gate open, shove John through, and pull the gate closed. John pulls out his flashlight as I pull out mine. I hear John stop and I am certain he's checking his phone. There's no point. There's no service down here.

"What are you doing?" I ask, not looking around at him.

"Coming," he sighs.

We walk through many tunnels and walkways and we climb down the ladders. At last we arrive at Sumatra station. I shine the flashlight along the track besides the platform looking for a train. But there's no sign of it.

"I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first!"

"Shut up 's nowhere else it could be."

I turn towards the track and close my eyes. I quickly go into my mind palace in hopes of figuring this out. Where had it gone? Where would it have gone? I think and think until I come to the conclusion. Simple really. How could I have not gotten it? So stupid and human Sherlock. I open my eyes and run towards the end of the platform with John on my tail.

"What?" I hear him say but I am too locked up in my mind to notice. I jump off the platform and on to the tracks

"Hang on. Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"That's… isn't it live?"

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails," I said, smiling at him.

"'Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great," he says jumping down onto the tracks.

"This way."

"You sure?"

"Sure," I say before walking a couple meters and reaching what looks like the missing carriage.

"Ah. Look at that," John says.

"John."

"Hmm?"

I shine my flashlight to the vent on the top of the tunnel noticing that it has several small devices that seem to be explosive or explosive like on the sides of the vents.

"Demolition charges?" John asks.

We climb into the carriage and find that it's empty. Wow this is disappointing. Nothing here. A bit fishy though. I spot cables going down the walls and on the backs of the chairs.

"It's empty. There's nothing," John says happily.

"Isn't there?"

I lift the cushion in order for John to see it. John points his flashlight right where I am and his face looks up in surprise and fear.

"This is the bomb," I say.

"What?"

I lift the cushion all the way up to make him observe the explosives.

"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb."

I go around to every single cushion as does John and every one of them has a single explosive under it.

While John continues to lift the seat cushions, I take a look around the carriage to see if anything is wrong in this carriage. I start to get frustrated when I can't find anything. There has to be something wrong. I glance down and see that a floor panel is loose on the aisle.

I bend down and force the panel open. Underneath is what seems to be the largest bomb on the train. John takes several deep nervous breaths, I know this is hard for him. God I feel so bad for taking him on this case. I put the panel up against the side of the train. I look down and then look up into Johns eyes to already find him staring at me.

"We need bomb disposal."

"There may not be time for that now."

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, think of something," he says rather harshly.

"Why d'you think I know what to do?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"The flattery is nice. Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"

"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all," I say angrily.

I look down at the timer that displays the time 2:30.

"Can't… can't we rip the timer off, or something?"

"That would set it off."

"You see? You know things."

"As well as you know things. I just don't know about bomb defusing John. I didn't think it was important."

"How could you think that bomb defusing isn't important!"

" I didn't think I'd be in the situation."

"Oh damnit Sherlock!"

Out of nowhere the countdown on the clock begins to tick down and John groans. Oh damn. I need to shut it off.

"Er…"

"My God!"

I start to pace. I need to think if a way to save John.

"Er…"

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"Please just…"

"Why do you never call the police?"

"WELL, ITS NO USE NOW!" I yell at him in a voice that sounds vaugely like a five year olds.

I look down at the clock. 2:15.

"So you can't switch the bomb off? You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police."

"Go, John, " I say pointing towards the way out, "go now."

"There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this…other people will die!"

I glance down again. looks down for a moment and then looks back up to me and starts to point at me.

"Mind Palace."

"Hmm?"

"Use your Mind Palace."

"How will that help?"

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"

"Oh, and you think I've just got 'How To Defuse A Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?"

"Yes! "

I wait for a second and put my fingers up to my head. Could I save John?

"Nope. Not in here."

"Think."

"Think. Please think," John pleads.

I groan. I can't do this. My poor, sweet John is going to die and it's going to be my fault. I am the worst person to ever live.

"Oh my God," I say, taking off my scarf and dropping down to my knees.

"This is it," John whispers.

" I'm sorry,"

"What?"

" I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?"

"What?"

"Please, John, forgive me ... for all the hurt that I caused you. I was selfish and I'm sorry."

" No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick."

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No."

"You're just trying to make me say something nice."

"Not this time."

"It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like…"

" I wanted you not to be dead."

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for."

"If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and…you'd still have a future…with… oh my God!

"What?"

"There's an Off switch."

"What?"

"Look, right there," I say, pointing at the small switch on the side of the bomb.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Turn it off you idiot!"

I grin, then squeezes my fingers down the side of the device and flick the switch. The timer flickers from 0:34 and 0:33. I did it.

"Oh thank God," John mutters.

"John… come here."

I stand and hold my arm wide open. He walks over to me and wraps his arms around my neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you in danger. I shouldn't have done it. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I forgive you?"

"Because I'm a total dick and I shouldn't have put you in danger."

"No, it's okay. Everything's fine."

"I hope you realize I'm using this against you forever."

"You're a complete and utter cock. I'm going to kill you."

"Oh, please. Killing me… that's so two years ago."

I see flashlight beams approaching through the open door. John pulls away from our hug.

"You did call the police?" John asks.

"No I texted George. He called the police."

"His name is Greg."

"No… no… I'm quite certain it's George."

John chuckles and lets out an exasperated sigh. Three armed officers approach us, flashlights shining from their raised rifles.

"Hello boys. You two alright?" the officer on the left asks.

"Obviously," I reply sarcastically.

"Well okay. We just need your help catching the attempted terrorist," the officer on the right says.

"Actually, do you mind if I head home? Sherlock should be able to help," John says.

"Yes, of course. I'll escort you," the officer in the middle says cheekily, a broad smile on her young face.

John's POV

I unlock the door to the flat Mary and I share. I turn around and wave to the officer in the car.

"Thanks for the ride home Kate," I yell.

"You're welcome," she yells back.

She reaves the engine and drives away. I open the door and walk through the threshold.

"Mary? I'm home."

"John, what took you so long? All you needed to do was pick up your jacket," Mary's voice drifted from the living room.

"Yeah, sorry. Sherlock needed help on a case. National Security. Bomb under Parliament," I say, walking towards her.  
When I reach the living room, I see a look of shock on her face.

"A bomb? Under Parliament?"

"Yes, but don't worry. Everything's fine."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Well, there was a brief period where I thought I would die, but Sherlock fixed it."

"Wait. John. Did you just say that there was a brief period when you thought you might die?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Why is it whenever you're around him you have an even bigger chance of dying. How am I supposed to deal with that?"

"Mary, he's my best friend. I can't just leave him."

"YES! YES YOU CAN!" Mary exploded.

"WELL I WON'T!"

"WHY NOT JOHN?! HE'S RUDE AND HE CONSTANTLY PUTS YOU INTO DANGEROUS SITUATIONS WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT!"

"BECAUSE I CAN'T JUST LEAVE HIM! ESPECIALLY AFTER I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD FOR TWO YEARS! You know how bad that was for me and to have him back is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Excuse me? Best thing that's ever happened to you? IM NOT THE BEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU!?"

"No… wait… Mary… that's not what I meant...wait... I'm sorry."

"No John. Just leave. Don't come back until I hear an apology. An actual apology John Watson."

"God it's like you're my mother right now."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

"IM LEAVING NOW!"

"GOOD RIDDANCE!"

I rush out the flat, slamming the door on my way, hail a taxi and make my way to Baker Street. Hopefully, Sherlock is back.

I wake up feeling more horrid than before. I feel a sting and I realize that Sherlock is hovering over me caring for my cuts. He looks at me with compassion in his eyes.

"John. What have you done?" He asks.

*flashback*

I walk into my old flat feeling terrible. I look around to see if Sherlock is here but I find nothing. I desperately need to talk to someone.

I feel tears in my eyes as I look into the mirror above the chimney. Is this what I've become? A train wreck who can't even keep his own fiancée happy?

I thought Mary was my hope but now I just feel useless and torn up inside. I can't see why she doesn't like Sherlock. I can't see why she has to pick fights when I was perfectly fine after the case.

I feel so angry at myself that I decide to do something stupid. It hurts too much. Maybe I can make the pain in my heart go away just for a few minutes and focus on another pain.

I lift up the skull on the mantle and find my razor. I'm so tired I can't even see straight. I bring the razor to my arms and slash. I can't even remember when I stopped. All I remember is blood, tears, and falling down.

*end of flashback*

"Sherlock is that you?" I ask hoarsely.

"No, it's Mycroft," he replies sarcastically, dragging a wet washcloth across my damaged skin.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"What happened?"

"What happened? You should know. I found you in the living room, passed out with blood running down your arms."

"I know how that happened. I was wondering why I passed out."

"My guess is exhaustion. You didn't lose enough blood to pass out. Care to explain what happened?" He asked, looking into my eyes with the same look of compassion.

"Mary and I had a fight. I felt angry, useless, and torn up inside because I can't keep my own fiancée happy let alone myself Sherlock. I'm lying to myself when I say I'm happy. I'm broken and I think everyone knows it."

"Shhh… don't think like that," he says quietly as he continues to wipe of the dried blood.

"No. I'm broken and I don't think anyone can fix me."

"You don't need to be whole. No one's perfect."

"Why can I never be happy? I thought I was. With Mary. I'm not happy, Sherlock. But I want to be happy. I want Mary to be happy. With me. Why can't this be simple?"

"Who said life was simple? When you signed up for life under the terms and conditions it clearly stated 'Your life is going to suck sometimes. You just got to deal with it.'"

"It never said it would suck all the time. If it did, I wouldn't have even signed up."

"Does your life suck all the time? Don't you have friends?"

"I have you. But that's basically it. Mary doesn't count as a friend. She counts as someone I'm supposed to make happy."

"You can't make everyone happy. It's not that easy."

"But my soon to be wife doesn't like you and I don't know if that's okay with me."

"I don't care if she doesn't like me."

"I know you don't, but I do."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Because you're my best friend and she should like you. You and Mary will be in my life and hopefully for a long time but if Mary doesn't like you than it will be hell and I don't think I can deal with that."

"Do you honestly find it surprising that she doesn't like me? There are times when I don't even like myself."

"I just thought she would be different from other people. She tries to see the good in people but apparently she can't find any good in you. I don't see why she can't find good in you. You are perfectly likable once you get past the twat-like tendencies."

"No one has actually taken the time to look past all my horrible qualities except for you. And is there anything people find admirable?" He asks, the blood almost completely gone now.

"Your remarkable way of trying your hardest to solve something even if it doesn't have that much of an affect on people."

"John, that's basically my way of getting high."

"But it's still amazing."

"That's because you're easy to impress."

"Well Mr. Easy To Impress thinks its still amazing."

I look at him harshly, hoping he understands my message.

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And here I was expecting a sarcastic comment."

"Nope. I'm too tired and achey for that. Otherwise I would comment away."

"Well, you're all cleaned up. I should let you get some sleep."

"Thank you. And thank you for not judging me on my bad decisions. You are a great friend even if everyone thinks you're a dick."

"You've seen my bad decisions. Who am I to judge?"

"Thank you anyways. Now if you don't mind, my old bed looks really comfy. Why haven't you moved it by now?"

"Haven't found the time. Do you want me to move it?"

"No. It's fine. Leave it."

"Now I have a question for you."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Why is it whenever you're sad you come here? I'm not good with feelings."

"Because it makes me feel at home. Because being with my best friend is better than being alone. I just need comfort and Baker Street provides that."

"How very sentimental of you."

"Oh shut up. I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight Sherlock."

He stands, grabbing the bowl of dirty water, and walks to the door. He turns around and smiles at me.

"Goodnight John."


End file.
